


Spun away all her sorrow and pain

by dorina16able



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Fluff and Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Post-Episode: s08e02 A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, Pre-Battle, They are finally canon, otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 15:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18607003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorina16able/pseuds/dorina16able
Summary: She was not willing to abandon their small world to jump into a battle where they would most likely die. Judging from the way he was holding her, he was not willing either.





	Spun away all her sorrow and pain

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not over the second episode of the season...OH MY GOD, I can't believe my two babies finally got together!! :D :D I really hope they survive the battle, but until the third episode, here's my own version of what could have happened when the horn sounded at the end of the episode.
> 
> The title is a verse from the wonderful song "Jenny of Oldstones", sung by the amazing Podrick Payne (god, the montage of everyone was simply awesome) and, when this verse came up together with the image of Gendry and Arya it was sooo fitting :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Game of Thrones universe and characters

_“Last time you saw me, you wanted me to come to Winterfell. Took a long road, but…”_

Arya shouldn’t think about the words Gendry told her when he came to give her the weapon he crafted for her. She shouldn’t think about how soft these words sounded or the small smile that crept up his face as he spoke them, expressing more thoughts than his words ever could…as if he wanted to assure her that he was truly here now.

She shouldn’t think about _anything_ concerning their common past, the violent way with which they were separated all this time ago.

Seven hells, she shouldn’t think about his brief hesitation when she told him she wanted to feel something before dying in battle or about his breathy chuckle as they kissed as if he couldn’t believe they were here, _together,_ or about the gentleness he displayed when the horns of war could sound at any moment and once more violently separate them and draw them away from the small room of the forge where they were resting, the room that was their personal shelter for the moment and shut out the rest of the world.

And yet these thoughts couldn’t help but dance in her mind as she lay awake, staring into the wall across from her, with Gendry’s cloak covering her…as she listened to his deep breaths while he slept soundly in what were their final calm moments in this world and as she felt his warm presence beside her when the army of the dead were marching towards Winterfell to bring eternal cold and darkness. A wild and terrifying dance of thoughts, mixed with an explosive mess of memories, fears and emotions; content, nervousness and a deep terror Arya never thought she would experience to such an extent.

She was a fool to think that she could handle this with composure and block everything inside her just like she did for years and years. She wasn’t prepared for this; not for the feelings, not for the gentleness, not for the fact that right now she felt more alive than she had felt in a very long time. She wished she could follow Gendry’s example and fall asleep—not so much for the rest, no one could fully rest when it was their last night on earth, but more in order to forget everything for just a couple of moments, to fool herself that their lives were not hanging from a very thin thread instead of thinking that this night would spread death throughout Winterfell.

Instead of thinking that this night would bring the death of so many people who were important to her…her own death and the death of the man who gave her a last moment of happiness she herself asked for…wanting to feel that, just for one night, she could experience something else beside the upcoming fight, something she could call her own…that she could still be in control of everything…of her own life and of their coming together…and something she could keep safe in her like a cherished memory.

But now this same control was slipping from Arya’s hands with every passing moment that marked the approach of the White Walkers, making her sorrow and pain, temporarily forgotten thanks to the love and the passion of earlier, even worse than when she first learned that fighting was only a matter of hours.

_Death has many faces and I look forward to knowing this one_ , she recalled her earlier statement that had become a motto for her in order to feel like a warrior again, but not even this was enough when her home was being threatened by the worst enemy Westeros had ever seen…way worse than Kings and Queens going to war and killing each other for some ugly throne.

As if from a tragic irony, as if wanting to prove her thoughts that nothing else mattered, that titles didn’t matter now and that it was the living against the dead, a horn blasting reached the walls of the forge, sounding three times and announcing the arrival of the dead army. Almost simultaneously, Arya felt a movement beside her and a soft inhale of breath, a sign that the sound of the horn   brought Gendry out of his sleep and back into the real world. The nervousness at facing him now and the terror of witnessing so much death became unbearable and Arya felt the urge to hit herself for her fear to even turn around and look him in the eyes; she was still trying to maintain a distance and an emotionless mask to protect herself from the inevitable emotional pain, but she had the feeling that Gendry would see behind it anyway, exactly like he saw through her disguise when she pretended to be a boy in a time that now seemed to have occurred centuries ago.

She raised her head, as if trying to perceive the world outside, hearing the courtyard and corridors of Winterfell already filling with shouts, orders and noises as everyone armed themselves for the battle that had come after some last hours of relaxation. But just as she tried to stand up and prepare herself, a strong arm wrapping itself around her waist brought her back into the cocoon of the blankets and cloaks and made her head fall back on the makeshift pillows…followed by the sense of Gendry’s chest pressed against her back and his breaths falling on her nape…breaths that started to turn erratic at the horror of the danger they were about to face.

“The horn sounded. They are here.” Arya stated the obvious, her voice a whisper that not only contained her fear and the emotions she tried to suppress, but also hid the sudden tremble of her hands and the suspicious stinging in her eyes; that scared her almost as much as facing the White Walkers, for she was not one to cry easily and now she felt more vulnerable than earlier, when she let everything go and gave herself completely and willingly to the stubborn blacksmith who was now hugging her. “We must go.”

“In a moment.” His own voice reached her ear, still hoarse and slurred from sleeping that almost made her chuckle because of the intimacy it created, combined with his fingertips brushing against her scars, reflecting tenderness that was being transferred in her, but also a hidden guilt that he hadn’t been there to help her and maybe prevent these scars and the wounds behind them from even happening. The soft caress in perfect timing with small, loving kisses pressed against her shoulder, her neck and the back of her head…protective in a more intimate way compared to how they protected and trusted each other in the past.

This, right now, also holds Gendry’s despair for both their lives, his wish to keep her safe when he knows too well that the sense of safety is long gone and that she’d rather become a White Walker herself than hide in the crypts away from the fighting.

Again, she should push him away, call him a stupid sentimental bull and tell him they didn’t have time for this nonsense. But she found herself unable to do so as she practically melted into the warmth of his arms and the part of her she had bottled up for so long, the part that allowed her to love, hope and joke, the part that made her human, the part that made her more and more Arya Stark and less No One, resurfaced from the void of non-existence where she had hidden it…all sorrow and pain diminishing at once, like a dance coming to an abrupt end.

And now that the lies were officially over and the enemy was literally in front of their gates…now was as good a time to admit it as any.

She was not prepared for so much love…and now she was not willing to abandon their small world to jump into a battle where they would most likely die. Judging from the way he was holding her, he was not willing either.

He didn’t need any pretty words to convince her for that…he was never one for many words or for long, poetic confessions like the stupid princes in the songs Sansa used to love. But it was evident in the small sound of despair he left when they finally pulled away, in the shy and tender glances they threw at each other while getting dressed and in her own, trance-like state…a numbness travelling across her entire body as she tried to force herself to leave the forge and join her sister up at the wall.

So when Gendry grabbed her arm and pulled her to him when she attempted to take her leave, his forehead touching hers and his piercing blue eyes meeting her stormy grey ones, drinking her in as if it was the last time he saw her, Arya allowed a smile to appear on her face, even though the words she told him sounded composed and mocking, just like she teased him as a child and then again when they reunited upon his arrival as a member of Jon’s group.

“Don’t you dare die out there.” A warning, a plea, marked with a bantering tone that was meant to conceal her fear, although, judging from his laughter and how he nuzzled her face, he understood the meaning behind it.

“As m’lady commands.” His trademark answer, the one that irritated her so much in the past, yet now it caused her to briefly laugh; it had an air of normalcy, which was ironic considering that the world was ending right at this very moment.

He leaned down to connect their lips in one final kiss…in what could _literally_ be their last kiss ever, though Arya tried not to think about it, because it was the softest and most tender kiss they ever shared this night, without the fire of their previous ones. This one spoke of wishing each other good fortune in the battle to come, of promising to have each other’s backs for as long as possible, of confessing that neither one regretted what transpired between them.

And, although neither dared to openly admit it, of saying goodbye.

She handed him his cloak and he handed her the quarterstaff he made just for her…hands brushing at the movement…they nodded at each other, now with determined expressions to fight for as long as they could stand…Gendry no longer trying to pressure her to go to the crypts...now they were standing beside each other as equals in the upcoming battle.

And despite her burning fear, Arya silently reminded herself of Syrio’s words as the two of them left the forge…words that sounded false and too optimistic considering who they were fighting against, yet words she now hoped would guide her throughout the battle.

_Not today._


End file.
